Page 43 of Arse Over Irish Teacup
Beth squeezed her shoulders together. “Home.” It wasn’t just a word, it was a feeling. One she missed desperately.
Beth headed for the bathroom. She would have felt guilty for not admiring the house more while passing through but her head was gradually falling off her shoulders. She needed sleep and a shower—not in that order.
Once she was dried, she borrowed a pale blue cotton nightgown from the closet, climbed inside the bed, and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
ChapterNineteen
A polka bandhad played an all-night concert inside Beth’s head. Forgetting where she was, Beth squinted her eyes open and reached around in the dark until her hand touched a lamp on the bedside table and turned it on. With her eyes squinting in the light, she looked around the charming bedroom with its blue flowered wallpaper and white cotton ruffled curtains.
On the far wall were paintings. One of the larger ones was of a long-haired white cat with bright blue eyes laying on what appeared to be the very bed she was in. Now she remembered: Roan.
She should at least drink some water. Her eyelids wanted desperately to be closed again but her eyes were like sandpaper.
Beth crawled out of her warm, soft bed and made her way to the kitchen where she opened only two cabinets before finding the glasses and filled one with water from the tap. As she stood, leaning against the island drinking her water, she noticed how quiet it was. No thunder, no lightning, only a light rain, the fire wasn’t even crackling anymore.
Then she noticed the empty basket and remembered: Roan had made her dinner. Beth’s eyes were barely slits but her stomach growled at the smell of food. Go back to bed or eat? She tore off a hunk of the brown bread and ate it, not expecting much, but it was delicious. Her stomach won the debate.
Within a few minutes Beth had a hot dinner all plated and was happy to find there was still a fire left to salvage and all it needed was a couple of fresh logs and a little poking.
Beth brought her meal to the living room and placed it on the coffee table, then sat on the sofa, crossing her feet underneath her. Behind her was a quilt draped over the back of the sofa that she dragged across her lap, then ate her delicious dinner in front of a crackling fire.
As Beth ate, she gazed at the pictures on the mantel. There was one of Roan holding up a large fish, and another of him on a mountain bike. There was a family portrait taken in front of a large Christmas tree. It was typical: some people had sunny smiles but with their eyes closed, others looked perfect, and where were they … She scanned each face looking for … ah ha! There was always one person rolling their eyes, usually a child. In this one it was a little redhaired girl with freckles and hair as bouncy as Shirley Temple’s. Beth grinned at the child with a twisted face and wearing a ruffled red dress. Her tongue was sticking out, her arms crossed, and apparently, Santa had not brought what she wanted.
There in the center of everyone, seated in a chair, was an older woman with white hair loosely pulled back and up. She had a kind face, a welcoming smile, and a twinkle in her eye. Beth surmised she must be Roan’s grandmother. She looked at the other pictures and off to the left was a small black and white wedding portrait.
Beth placed her empty dish back on the coffee table and got up to get a better look at the photo. Although the bride was decades younger, there standing on church steps, holding a bouquet of roses was the white-haired woman from the family portrait. Even in black and white the twinkle in her eye could be seen. The groom was very handsome and proud in his army uniform and his best girl on his arm. It must have been a windy day because her veil was blowing off to the side. Beth looked back over to the Christmas family portrait. The happy couple had made a beautiful family.
How nice for them.
With a heavy sigh Beth took her dirty dish to the kitchen sink, filled her glass with water, gulped it down, filled it again then headed back to bed. She was tired and although the stew had weighed down her crankiness a notch, it was still off the charts.
* * *
Beth awoke to knocking on the front door. She stretched her arms out from underneath the quilt and one by one slung her legs over the edge to the floor. She didn’t need a mirror to know that her hair was sideways, backwards, and every way in between and that half of her face showed wrinkles from the pillow. Not that she cared. Who was she trying to impress? Wrapped in the quilt, she bumbled her way to the knocking at the door.
Beth swung open the door and was blinded by the daylight. Through the purple spots in her eyes she tried to make out who was on the doorstep. “Roan? What time is it?”
“About half past two. I stopped ‘round this morning but you must have been sound asleep.”
She covered her mouth and yawned. “I haven’t slept this well in weeks.” Her brain began to fizz and wake up. If it was daylight outside, then that meant she had slept through the night and more than half of today. “Did you say half past two? I’m sorry. I should be gone by now. I’m so sorry.” She turned and began walking away still apologizing before he could get a word in edgeways.
“Bethany, wait. You don’t have to leave, love.”
She stopped rambling and turned back around.
“If you like it here you can stay.”
“You would let me stay another night?”
“Another night, another week, a month. Whatever suits you.”
“You would rent me your home?”
“Sure, I would. The house was just sitting empty anyway. Besides you would be doing me a favor looking after the place. You can think about it and let me know.”
Beth didn’t know what to say. He’d made the offer so freely. His generosity came so unexpectedly that she forgot about her flight.
“Listen, on the off chance that you might stay,” he gestured to the bench outside beside the door where a bag sat. “I brought you dinner.”
